


everything you see on the movie screen is tame

by girljustdied



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/M, Menstruation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2019-10-08 16:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girljustdied/pseuds/girljustdied
Summary: i close my eyes and all the world drops dead.





	everything you see on the movie screen is tame

Being on the run with him is just like being alone. Cook, a shadow sewed to the soles of her feet. Cook, a physical extension of her every whim, smashing glass and biting her mouth and pulling her along. Cook, laughing—no, she’s laughing, it’s her, she’d forgotten who was who again.

They sleep together in the same soil their feet stir up, dirty and damp and shaking. His sounds are her sounds.

“Some ‘R’ and ‘R,’ Eff,” he announces seemingly out of the blue in a club one night, slumped back against the wall. “That’s what we need.”

She’d been leaning forward to observe a man with a rather expensive watch as the words filter though the pulsing house music and register like her own handwriting on the walls of her mind. Realizes she’d been contemplating the exact same thing.

The rest is easy. They make quick use of the money and Cook doesn’t make a fuss about what she’d done to get it.

Shrugs, “Could’ve fancied me instead—would that've turned you green, girly?”

“No,” she answers, and means it.

The hotel reminds her of one her family had stayed at when she was younger. Two double beds: her and her mother on one, her father and Tony on the other. Mum had explained that the beds were too small for two adults to sleep comfortably together, and Effy had believed her.

She and Cook fit just fine. He slots his fingers through the ridges of her ribcage; it pokes out from her skin like a suit of armor.

He tells her so. Leers, “Ready for a joust?”

“If I’m a knight, what does that make you?”

But he’s not listening anymore. Bends between her legs and slings one over each of his shoulders. He licks into her once, twice, fingers thrusting inside of her and then suddenly stilling.

“Cook,” she clutches as much of his hair into a fist that she can, cants her hips up.

But he just turns his face into her thigh and starts snickering into the skin there until she finally loses her practiced air of chilly disinterest and kicks his back with the heel of her foot.

“Sorry, princess,” he sits up a little, one hand still holding onto her knee and the other wiping a unnervingly red fluid from his chin. “Looks like you’re on the rag.”

She clenches her legs tightly around him, instinctually wanting to close her thighs but for a split-second forgetting that he’s still there between them, “Fuck’s sake.”

“S’not the worst thing I ever sampled.” He runs the back of his hand across his mouth again, though, “Dunno if I’d travel south again without some serious compensation.”

Strangely charmed by how he hasn’t yet moved from the front row seat to her monthly horror show, “Guess you’re not a vampire, then.”

“Naw, babe,” he strokes the hair bristling unchecked on her calves as she pulls her legs off his shoulders. “Animals, me and you.”

She doesn’t have the energy to call into question the idea of the two of them belonging to the same genus. Seems bloody pointless. More and more every day. What were they doing if not merging into a sort of teenage tumbleweed, rolling aimlessly across the country?

She sends Cook for supplies and he comes back from the world outside with a plastic bag containing just a single pack of gum—then digs out of his pants and the pockets of his coat: cough syrup, condoms, purple nail polish, a Curlywurly, an apple, and finally a large fistful of tampons.

“Where’d you get the apple?” she takes a bite of it on her way to the toilet.

“A fuckin’ tree,” he turns on the television and plops onto the bed with great fanfare.  
  
Makes her laugh despite herself, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

They watch _Top Gear_ and she paints his toenails. When they’re not fucking, it’s almost like they’re mates. Well, Effy imagines that having a friend might feel like this. She pinches him, jabs in her nails as hard as she can until he yelps and retaliates—digs his knuckles into her oversensitive lower belly.

“Payback’s a bitch, innit,” he guffaws at her growling and curling into a ball on the bed.  
  
“You ruined the moment,” she says aloud despite being unsure if the words are true.

“Oh?” he kisses her stomach where his fist had been.

“Hoped you were imaginary.”


End file.
